


Hunger

by Philemal



Series: Incubus AU [2]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood and Gore, Depression, Hurt/Comfort, Incubus!Keith, Incubus!Lance, M/M, Magic, Platonic Kissing, Succubus!Allura, allura's his mom, eat your heart out, idk how to tag things just know that its wild, it gets crazy ya'll, it's set in the 1300s, keith literally sets off the plague....
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-15
Updated: 2018-07-18
Packaged: 2019-06-10 20:21:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 18,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15299286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Philemal/pseuds/Philemal
Summary: “Why are you doing this? You’re being incredibly selfish. None of us have been able to get a decent meal since you showed up. Where’s your mentor?”Keith blinks, licking his lips, tasting the iron of blood. “I –” She gazes at him inquisitively, brushing a strand of white hair past her shoulder. “What do you mean?”There’s a long silence, and Keith is trapped in her blue gaze. “You don’t –” She gives another sigh, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Of course. Of course!” She waves her hand around in exasperation, “Just perfect,” She walks past Keith, and he follows her, watching as she examines the mother covered in black boils. “You do know that you’re wiping out half of Europe, right? They’re calling it the black death. They think God is angry with them and is reaping his vengeance.”





	1. Chapter 1

_1346, Bulgaria_

If he’s being perfectly honest, he doesn’t remember a thing about his human life. He doesn’t remember dying, thank _God_ , nor does he remember the way the world looks through human eyes. He doesn’t recall looking at another mortal and not immediately feeling a violent hunger in his stomach, tearing through his organs and searing in his blood. He knows though, that once upon a time, he walked among these people.

The first 40 years after his transformation are a blur. He knows that he was hungry – so hungry it hurt – and the result of that was… well, it was a _blast_. Every town he stepped foot into, the humans would go into a frenzy, filling the air with the stench of sex – and Keith was all too eager to participate. He remembers flashes of skin, wanton gasps, the way tan flesh looks orange under the glaze of fire. He remembers feeding so ardently he killed thousands. He also remembers that no matter how many perfect bodies he tore through, his hunger wouldn’t recede – a heavy burden, weighing down his shoulders and inducing a feverish haze.

He doesn’t remember seeing anything out of rose-tinted goggles. He was desperate for it. He was killing hundreds for it. All to make the disgusting whisper of his hunger _stop_.

The sex _was_ great though.

Keith tells himself not to regret having orgies with 20+ people – he is an Incubus after all. A newborn has little control over their powers, and with the intensity of his hunger on top of his exceptionally strong magic – disaster was bound to happen. Keith at the time couldn’t care less. When it happens, he’s draped across a velvet chair in a fancy castle. He thinks he killed the noble-woman that lived here – well, she didn’t need the place anyway. Keith’s musing over his nails, black and long, shimmering like onyx jewels by the roaring fire.

He’s naked, too, with only a scrap of silk covering the narrowness of his hips.

There’s a girl behind him, brushing through his hair, blue eyes cloudy and dazed. He takes mild comfort in this action, graced by the chilly night air as it breezes through the window. “Tell me, kitten,” Keith purrs, gazing up at her. She’s plump and blonde, with sunkissed skin and ample breasts. “Do you love me?”

Her eyes flicker. Keith can see the fear that flashes, if only for a brief moment. It makes him grin, his tail curling and tickling her chin. “Yes,” She says, voice dead. “Of course.”

Keith hums questioningly. He reaches up, black nails stroking the softness of her cheek. Right. This girl was the noblewoman’s daughter. She probably watched Keith fuck her mother and then kill her. “What do you favor the most about me, love?” Outside the royal bed-chambers, there’s a pile of bodies. Keith liked the guards. They tasted like loyalty – purple and rich.

The girl’s hands pause on Keith’s hair, and she blinks, trying to force herself from her daze. “What?” Her voice is soft, scared. Keith’s tail brushes strands of blonde from her face, curling it behind her ear. He looks up at her, licks his lips – she smells good. Especially now. Her fear is intoxicating. The hunger that was satiated comes back full force – both his hands cup her face, nails digging into her chubby cheeks and drawing blood. “No,” She gasps, stumbling back, “Please don’t hurt me!”

Keith rolls onto his stomach, propping his forearms on the edge of the velvet chair, tail flicking in irritation. “Come, now,” He tilts his head, “Are you really going to act scared? You wanted me so badly before. You remember, right?”

She covers her mouth with a whimper, gazes upon her mother, who’s covered in black boils that protrude from her skin. Keith has to admit – he might’ve taken too much from her. “I apologize for that – she was really, _really_ good. I can still taste her.”

A mothers’ love was something special. It tastes like pureness – sugar, and candy. Keith sits up, stretching out his arms, disregarding the piece of silk around his hips. The blonde girl slumps against the wall, holding her head in her hands. “I can make this better for you, you know. Don’t be scared,” He walks towards her, sits on the floor with her, touches her hair. She’s trembling. Poor thing. He sighs, lays his cheek on the top of her head. She’s warm. She smells like sunlight and despair – it makes Keith’s teeth _ache_. He wants to tear into her.

“Don’t touch me.”

Keith rolls his eyes, stroking her arms. He can feel something on his finger-tips, buzzing and warm, and ripples of gold wave across her freckled skin like water. She slumps with an ecstatic sigh, and Keith grins evilly, holding her close. “That’s right,” He hums, hand moving to cup her cheek, matted with blood. “I’m sorry for that,” He leans forward, kisses the wounds and tastes her blood. She’s completely lax, a bit catatonic, but her skin is feverish and she responds in kind to the intimate kiss on her face. A surge of power wracks his spine, white-hot and encompassing every sense he knows. She tastes like plums and sugar.

He’s hungry.

He sees nothing but red, feels nothing but the searing pain of his stomach, the dryness of his throat. It’s like a white-hot poker is shoved down his esophagus. The pain is unbearable – it would’ve brought tears to his eyes if he _could_ cry. He yanks her head back, violet eyes now swallowed by the blackness of his pupils. She only smiles, even when he lunges forward, tearing into her throat and feasting on muscle and ligaments. She whispers _yes, more_ – _please_. Her taste floods his mouth, and he knows only the hunt.

He feeds off her insides until the red tint flees from his eyes, plunging him into blissful clarity.

When he comes to, he’s covered in blood, and the princess is absolutely mutilated – throat ripped open, and Keith’s eyes follow the sanguine tear down her once beautiful chest.

Her heart was gone.

Keith places a hand on his stomach.

Keith rubs at his eyes, feeling the sickening, satisfying sensation of fullness. He hates it. He scrambles away from her, staining the brown slate floors with her blood – _what have I done?_ What happened? His face feels sticky, and he can taste the remnants of her essence. She tastes like bliss and euphoria – but he knows that couldn’t be true. How could anyone want to be eaten alive? He’s trembling, standing up on shaking legs – and he almost falls, walking like a newborn deer.

The room reeks of sex and death. He despises it, loathes what he’s become – it’s a hatred that he feels in his very bones, squirming into his brain and scratching behind his eyes. He places a sticky hand on the wall, heaving for breath, trying desperately to remember. He doesn’t know why he’s here. He doesn’t know how he got here, either – he looks at a woman, strewn over a red ottoman, eyes vacant and skin grey.

“Oh, dear.”

Keith whips around, every nerve ending burning with alertness. There’s a woman sitting on the windowsill – her hair is like moonlight, cascading down the slimness of her back in heaps of silver. “This won’t do.” Keith examines her oval face, high cheekbones, and full lips, with a dazzling set of blue eyes that twinkle like endless pools of aquamarine. She smells like grace and feminity, with a hint of roses – Keith’s stomach burns again.

What really catches his interest, though, are the platinum horns that curl from the silk of her hair, and a pastel tail that’s wrapped around her waist. “You’re –” He starts. She stands up, practically floating on the wooden floors. She glances down at the princess’s body and heaves a weary sigh.

“Why are you doing this? You’re being incredibly selfish. None of us have been able to get a decent meal since you showed up. Where’s your mentor?”

Keith blinks, licking his lips, tasting the iron of blood. “I –” She gazes at him inquisitively, brushing a strand of white hair past her shoulder. “What do you mean?”

There’s a long silence, and Keith is trapped in her blue gaze. “You don’t –” She gives another sigh, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Of course. Of course!” She waves her hand around in exasperation, “Just perfect,” She walks past Keith, and he follows her, watching as she examines the mother covered in black boils. “You do know that you’re wiping out half of Europe, right? They’re calling it the black death. They think God is angry with them and is reaping his vengeance.”

She lifts the mothers’ arm, then scoffs in disgust and drops it again. Keith swallows thickly. “Me?” She shoots a glare down at him – like fire and ice. He can feel himself shrivel up in fear. “How could I do this? I don’t remember anything. I…”

She scowls. “Nothing?” Keith nods. She heaves another great sigh, plopping down on the velvet seat Keith once sat in. “Of course I get stuck with the newborn Incubus that has the power to wipe out 200 million people in the blink of an eye.”

Keith’s heart sinks. She pats the seat next to her. “I’ll explain everything. I’ll even take you under my wing – It’s necessary if you want to keep living without murdering thousands of people.” His mind is humming – splitting apart and shattering within his skull. _Two hundred million?_ He sits down next to her, heavy, gazing in front of him with clouded eyes. “My name is Allura. I want you to know that whatever you’ve done is most likely not your fault – newborns have difficulty seeing past their hunger. And it seems that you have great magic. You haven’t done this intentionally.”

Keith nods, lost in his own mind.

He doesn’t remember any of it. He remembers feeling hungry all the time. It’s an ugly feeling. It wriggles in his memories like a festering wound. “What have I done?”

Allura bites her lip. “This is a delicate situation,” She begins, carefully. “If you come with me, I’ll help you get a grasp on your powers so this will never happen again. I’ll teach you how to feed without killing.”

Keith looks down at his lap, fingers tight and white against each other. “It won’t work. Nothing works,” His voice feels strained, thick and hoarse – God. He can still taste _her_ in the back of his throat, heavy and enticing. “I’m so _hungry_.”

Allura pulls him in for a hug, not seeming to mind the crimson that stains her white dress. “It’s alright. That will pass once you can control yourself.” She’s even stroking his hair, letting him bury his nose in the crook of her neck. He doesn’t feel like he deserves this. He’s a murderer – he committed genocide on a mass scale, and yet, Allura was treating him like he was glass. “You’re okay now.”

He doesn’t deserve it.

But he needs it.

* * *

Allura has friends in high places. Keith shouldn’t be surprised – but he is anyway when Allura wraps him in a warm black cloak and whisks him away to a palace deep in the verdure of Bulgaria. At least, that’s where Allura says they were. Last Keith remembered, he was in Russia. Everything prior to the events last night is lost to him. He can’t remember anything no matter how hard he tries. Frankly, he’s not sure if he wants to remember – Allura makes it sound like he was a monster.

Maybe he was.

Keith scratches at his fore-arm absentmindedly while she shows him around the castle. He knows he should feel hungry at this point, like a burning itch he can’t scratch, but… it’s strange. Being around Allura, his hunger is muted, like a distant echo that reverberates between his shoulders. He can still feel it though, whispering to him, filling his head with images of tearing Allura apart, feasting on her liver. He scratches harder.

Allura notices and reaches over, a gentle hand on his wrist to make his anxiety recede. It works – minutely. “It’s alright,” she says, blue eyes warm and soft. Something in Keith cracks. He starts crying, hot tears staining his cheeks and running through the stickiness of dried blood. He breathes shakily, looking at his arm that he rubbed raw – and feels his heart shatter, breaking into a thousand pieces and joining the half-digested organ in his belly. Allura’s face is comforting, and he finds himself cupping her cheeks, trying desperately to part himself from the painful ache in his chest. She strokes his hair in return, her face washed in the orange glow of candle-light. “Let’s get you washed up, okay?”

Keith nods, biting his lower lip hard to keep himself from quivering. Allura leads him up a candle-lit stone stairway, clutching his hand tightly until she reaches a heavy wooden door with rusty iron nails. She pushes it open, the creak of it breaking the silence of the hallway, and leads him inside. It’s a bedchamber, with a large canopy bed covered in red silk, and a roaring fire that warms up the room, saving it from the chill of the night. There’s a bathtub behind a vanilla colored screen, steaming and scented with wild-flowers. Allura is in front of him, fingers hovering over the clasp of his robe. “May I?”

Keith nods at the softness of her voice. She was the one who put it on him in the first place – but she still makes sure he’s comfortable with taking it off. Something about the gesture makes Keith’s heart feel warm, underneath the weight of his depression. When the cloak flees from his shoulders, his heart feels lighter, and Allura is looking into his eyes. “Come on,” She takes his hand again, ambling him past the screen. With a shuddering breath, he sinks into the bath, staring at the ceiling to keep his gaze away from how the water instantly shifts to a muddy brown from all the blood on his skin.

Allura says nothing, but rolls up her white sleeves, dipping a washcloth into the hot water and scrubbing slowly at Keith’s neck. “It takes a lot of strength to wake up from a frenzy, you know,” Her voice is gentle, her gaze focused on removing every speck of dirt on his skin. Keith’s eyes burn.

The _evidence_.

“Do you know how long you were lost?” She asks, dipping the rag once it got too dirty. Keith shakes his head, feeling the weight of the world on his shoulders. The only thing he knows is his name. “That’s alright. My frenzy lasted two hundred years,” She drags the cloth over his skin, and slowly, his pale flesh is revealed. “Granted, I wasn’t killing everybody I was with. I mostly just threw big parties and fed off of anyone I could get my hands on,” Keith shuts his eyes, feeling like he can finally relax. Somehow, Allura’s speech and gentle accent make him loose and floaty. She continues scrubbing, her fingertips grazing lovingly over his jaw-line. Something thrums beneath his skin, like a gentle wave, a lazy current of water washing over him from head to toe.

She was using magic on him.

Keith should be angry. He isn’t.

“I’m glad I found you. Who knows what would’ve happened if I didn’t,” She takes the rag over Keith’s mouth, gently rubbing away the remainder of his nightmares – as if she could heal his wounds that slash his heart. “Can you tell me your name?”

Keith releases a shaky sigh, slumping further against the marble of the tub. “Keith.”

Allura hums, washing off his skin with the utmost care. Something about it is so incredibly intimate and vulnerable – Keith should be running. He should be somewhere else. Anywhere but here. He doesn’t want to, though. “That’s a nice name,” Her voice is oddly motherly, talking to him as if he were a child. It wasn’t condescending – it was anything but. It was comforting. Familiar. Keith latches onto that feeling and holds it close to his chest. “Do you remember your human life?”

Keith shakes his head. Allura says nothing in response, continuing to scrub him down. She lifts one of his hands from the water, and the murkiness makes Keith’s eyes burn again. Allura rubs soothing circles into his palm, sending him into a state of blissful calm. “I do,” She runs the rag up against his arm, back and forth in a hypnotizing, slow rhythm. He focuses on the drag of cloth on his skin. Anything but the burn in his heart. “I was a fisherman’s daughter,” She has a warm smile on her face. “He was a good man. When I turned, I killed him.”

She squeezes the water from the rag and the sound chimes in his ear like crystal bells. “He’d take me fishing and I would beg to hold the pole,” Keith turns his heavy head to her, violet eyes searching her face, her gaze turned towards the ruddiness of his arm. “He told me not to trust anyone. Trust gets you hurt,” Back and forth. Crystal bells. “But sometimes people need help.” Keith can do nothing but nod in agreement, observing the vastness of her blue eyes. There’s something cold and lonely in them. “I hope you trust me.”

Keith thinks about that statement. It’s only been a night – but Allura has shown him more kindness than he could’ve ever dreamed of. This intimacy is what humans wait their whole lives for – and it happened to Keith in the span of hours. There’s something between them, something old and long gone, but it sings to both of them like a Siren’s song, pulling them together much like the waves are drawn to the sway of the moon. “I do,” Keith answers, voice ringing true.

Allura looks up, her face soft and vulnerable. The water glints orange from the fire, her almond skin looking positively radiant – her horns, Keith thinks, look like the wings of an angel. She’s his angel. “With your life?” She questions, her warm hand on his chest. He nods, without hesitation, and she smiles. “Okay. I know how to help you, Keith. I’ll make sure you’ll have a happy, fulfilling life. I _promise_.”

For the first time since his awakening, Keith smiles, and it hides the dread in his belly.

* * *

“Okay, Keith,” Allura says, blue eyes intently focusing on his own violets. “Focus. What do you see?”

Keith leans closer, hands on top of Allura’s open palms. He tries to delve deep into Allura’s eyes – or _whatever_ – so he can see the spark of her soul. He sees nothing but the emptiness of her pupils. He keeps trying, focusing so fiercely on Allura’s blue eyes, he thinks he’s starting to imagine things that aren’t there. He can see a faint flicker, like a dim candle, blowing to the side as if influenced by a violent wind. His fingertips feel warm as he peers closer – if he gets any nearer he thinks he’ll actually crawl into her eyes.

Allura blinks.

Keith throws his hands up in frustration, running them over his face with an exhausted groan. At first, Allura’s magic _had_ compacted his hunger, but now he’s starving. It’s been three nights and he doesn’t even know how he’s standing up at this point. His stomach pangs painfully with every passing minute, and Allura’s telling him to _focus_ in that stupid accent, and if he can’t get a fucking grip on his magic _RIGHT_ now he’s going to kill someone. Tear into them. Dive into their stomach and ravage them from the inside –

“I apologize,” Allura says, with a sheepish grin. Keith scowls deeply, ripping his hands off his face and placing them back onto her open palms. “You know, it’s taboo to feed on each other. But I think we can both agree you should be far away from humans – so, I don’t mind letting you take from me,” Her silver brows pinch together upon feeling Keith’s hands tremble in anger. “But you need to _focus_.”

Keith actually snarls. “If you tell me to focus one more time, I will _rip_ your tongue from your mouth.” His eyes flash, violet irises glowing with danger. Allura flinches back from him, staring at him as if he were a rabid dog – and Keith holds his head, shutting his eyes and breathing deeply. “I’m sorry. I can’t – I’m so fucking hungry. It _hurts_. I just need to…” Tear into something. Feast on her entrails. Drink her blood like water. His stomach gurgles painfully and he hunches over, hiding his head in his palms in shame. He can feel himself slipping backward. Some part of him wants to curl up in his subconscious if only to let _Frenzy Keith_ take over and ravage the entirety of eastern Europe.

He takes a deep breath, calms the rapid beating of his heart, and holds out his hands once more. “Okay. I’m ready. I’ll focus.” Allura is a tad bit wary, but she places her palms underneath his and keeps her eyes _open_ – thank God. Keith leans close, until their knees are touching, and hones in on the dark pupils surrounded by a vast sea of azure. He sees that flickering again, but this time, it’s shrouded, opaque and barely there. His eyes follow the sway of the flame, lashing back and forth like the head of a charmed snake – his fingertips feel warm again.

He wraps his fingers around her tan wrists, thumbs stroking into the veins that protrude just below her palms, into the vertebrae and ligaments. His lips part, and he stares, deeper and deeper – until the flame flees from her dark pupils, orange, misty tendrils brushing his face. “You see it?” Allura whispers. Keith says nothing, feeling the heat of flames licking at his skin, feeling the warmth of her arms between his fingers. “Oh dear. When you learn to control your powers, you’ll be a riot with the women,” Her voice is distant to him. He leans closer, and closer – and their lips seal together.

Distantly, he thinks that humans would find it strange to kiss their sister.

For him, it’s necessary. They are sex demons after all. There’s nothing but a platonic fondness as he parts his lips, a shaky stream of blue mist separates Allura’s pink lips, pelting forward and sliding over Keith’s tongue, rolling past his teeth and slithering into his throat. He can taste her. She tastes like mint and comfort, refreshing and filling all at the same time. His eyes start to slip shut, because he can finally, _finally_ feed.

He sees red.

He surges forward, feeling nothing but the hunger in his stomach again – thinking only about tearing into her and seeing if she was as pretty on the inside as she is on the outside. Keith, in the back of his mind, is screaming. He doesn’t want to hurt Allura – but he’s doing so anyway, with his long nails, clawing up her arms in a desperate attempt to get to her throat.

No. No no no!

Allura, at first, tenses, but frowns deeply, rigid underneath Keith’s ravenous teeth. He has to pull himself out of this. He has to. Keith pushes forward, trying to part the endless sea of black, trying to reach the distant image of Allura’s face, scrunched up in fear. He wades into it, the shallow water becoming deep, thick like tar. It bubbles around his waist and soon, his chest – and his fear is like a hammer striking a hot blade, over and over with every quick pulse of his heart. He can feel himself touch her neck, thumbs dangerously close to her jugular. Her tail is on his shoulder, stroking as if she were _comforting_ him. He doesn’t care. He doesn’t notice anything besides the rise and fall of her throat, her heartbeat. He knows that if he just _presses_ –

Keith shouts, tearing his hands through thick tar and parting the sea that separates red from white. His body whirls backward, spinning and churning as if he’s been thrown into the eye of a violent hurricane. He flies through the air, swallowed by the endless void of gravity, until he’s rolling on the green grass of the garden, tail curled around himself protectively. The wind is knocked out of him, and his vision spins, white and green mixing together dangerously – but it’s enough to tear him out of his red induced frenzy.

“Very good!” Allura claps, leaning over his crumpled body. She looks way too cheerful for someone who almost was eaten alive. “Shall we try again?”

* * *

Keith taps his quill on the table, listening – and watching – Allura explain the _fundamentals of seduction_. She’s scribbling an image down on a blackboard with a piece of chalk – something involving horns and squiggly lines surrounding them. She says that the horns are the most sensitive part to _any_ Incubus – stimulation to them can prove most useful, as they coax the body to shed excess magic and give the illusion of feeling sated, instead of worked up and feverish.

She also claims that the tail is another sensitive area, but nothing compared to the lucidity of the horns. It’s all _very_ eye-opening. Keith rests his chin in his palm, eyes glazed over as he stares blankly ahead. Now Allura’s on about the hierarchy of Succubi and Incubi alike, rattling on and on about age and power. Wait – now that’s interesting. Keith blinks himself into awareness, focusing on Allura who’s happily chatting the day away.

“Now, there are certain people that demand respect,” She lifts up her white chalk, drawing three heads. “There’s Lotor,” From what Keith can tell from Allura’s drawing, he has an angular face, with sharp eyes and a cruel smirk. His horns, though. They’re different from the ram-like horns normal Incubi have – his are pointing upwards, with only a slight curve inwards and sharp tips. Like the devil’s horns. “He’s pretty tame. He just throws these orgies every fifty years – they’re _very_ fun, actually. Maybe I’ll take you once you’re tame,” Keith rolls his eyes. He doesn’t want to go, anyway. “I actually partnered with him for a while. We went our separate ways when… well, let’s just say him and I don’t agree on some things. That doesn’t mean we can’t enjoy each other's company!” She chirps, moving onto the second head.

“Then there’s Lance,” Keith tilts his head. He has a sharp face like Lotor’s, but softer cheeks and a small button nose, with a defined jawline and thin brows. Allura draws his expression with a thin brow raised, a cheesy grin on his face. Keith doesn’t know why, but he immediately wants to punch this man. “He’s the safest of the three. Harmless, really. Just very, _very_ old. He probably has a lot of power under that silly facade – but if he does, he doesn’t let anyone in on it. Silly boy – he’s head over heels for me. It’s a bit sad,” His horns are much more normal – yet smaller, somehow. Keith mentions this. “Right! He doesn’t talk about it much. No one really knows why. I assume he was in a fight in the past, and his horns were ripped off – which, by the way, is extremely painful: it’s a miracle he didn’t die – and they grew in wrong.” Keith has a sour taste in his mouth. “Next,”

The third face. Allura leans down, smiling brightly. “Is me!” Keith’s jaw drops. “Right! Okay, so, I don’t want this to change your opinion of me – but I’m four thousand years old, and I’m part of the three that make up the government. Allura’s the name!” Right. Okay. Keith pinches the bridge of his nose, mind buzzing. He fed off her. He almost killed her – She could’ve easily pushed him off that time, couldn’t she?

So why didn’t she?

The sour taste in his mouth turns into something completely bitter. She was testing him. Somehow, he feels both angry and understanding as he crosses his arms over his chest and glares at her. She gives him a sheepish smile, flipping over the blackboard to start a new lesson.

“Now! The abilities and strengths of an Incubus are _vast_ ,” She scribbles a rough pair of hands, then a horn, and the end of a tail. “We have the power to soothe,” She draws lines around the hands, ripple-like. “And seduce through touch. I used that trick with you when you first came to me!” Keith nods. The memory is bitter-sweet. “It makes it easier to snag some prey. Not everyone can be influenced, though,” She draws a pair of eyes, “And that’s why you use your eyes. You can open a direct gateway into their mind – a dream-scape, of sorts. You can influence them greatly, here,” She emphasizes the eyes with short lines. “Because guess what?”

“The eyes are the window to the soul?” Keith deadpans.

“Yup!” Allura nods, silver hair bouncing. “Very good, Keith,” She moves her tan wrist to the horn, pausing for a moment. “When Incubi are hungry or haven’t had a satisfying meal for a while, their horns begin to dull,” She glances at Keith’s horns, “They turn gray and frail – and in this time, it’s easier for them to chip, or break. It’s best to keep a full stomach!” She draws a circle around it, with an exclamation mark. “Should one break, we would be completely incapacitated. Our balance would be thrown off, not to mention the searing pain in our entire body, and the growing pains – well, you get the picture,” Then, to the tail. “The tail is a part of us. It helps us keep balance, much like a cat. As I said earlier, it’s a sensitive part of the body. Should it be cut off, we would be out of the game for a while. All in all: protect your body.”

Keith nods. “And the claws?”

Allura brightens. “Right! The claws are a defense mechanism, really. Though sometimes they pop out during sex – since our bodies think we’re being threatened. If someone can make your claws come out, they’re doing their job right.”

Keith’s ears burn. “Ok.”

“Now! Sex is a vital part of feeding…”

* * *

Four weeks pass.

The process is one step forward, two steps back. Keith can’t let himself feel his frustration. If he does, one thing will lead to another, and he’ll go straight back to seeing red. Right now, however, he’s seeing things through a cloudy film, staring at his reflection in a polished silver tray. His horns – usually a deep black, like a cover of the night sky, twinkling and thrumming with capillaries of violet – are monochrome. They’re white, and they feel like ash embedded in his skull, scratching and rubbing until he’s red and raw. He brushes his fingers across one, black nails looking dull and old, and winces. He feels so weak. Weak, and tired, and _hungry_ – and his head is throbbing with the stress on his frail body.

He sets down the tray, staring up at the ceiling instead. Allura insists this feeling will fade once he’s better. Fixed. Somehow, he feels like things will never get better. At least, not without the assistance of something else. It takes every ounce of his being not to snap, and it’s taking a toll on his body. He feels much older than he actually is. He feels like he’s shrinking, and eventually, he’s going to shrivel up until he’s nothing but dust and bones.

Allura enters the library, humming softly to herself. She smells like humans – she no doubts just came back from a feeding session in town. Keith is green with envy. “How was it?” He asks. His throat hurts with every word. Allura seems to notice, her gaze flickering to his gray horns, to the ashiness of his mouth. She sits next to him, lifting his skinny hand and examining his nails.

“Are you hungry, love?” She asks, voice lined with worry, heavy in the air. Keith looks away. “Dear,” She reaches over and cups his pale cheek, pasty and dry. “You aren’t going to hurt me. You remember last time – right? You stopped. And you know I can stop you?” Keith’s gaze lands on her, wary. _Can you?_ He thinks. _Because the fire inside me burns brighter than the fire in your eyes._

She smiles – it never changes. She’s always warm. Always soft. “Come here. Take what you need,” Keith shuts his eyes, releasing a shuddering breath, then leans forward to seal their lips. This one is chaste, and his iron will grips tight onto each of his ribs, refusing to take more than what he needs. _Just a little. Just a little to get me by._ He counts to 10 in his head, brows pinching tight together, body singing with relief at the flood of energy in his belly.

So good. Would her heart taste good? What about her kidney?

Red flickers behind his eyelids and he jolts away, panting and trembling. Allura beams at him, though her horns seem a bit duller than they had been. “Very good! You did it!” She runs her hands over his shaking shoulders. “This is what you’ve been trying to do for weeks. I’m proud of you.”

Keith looks away in shame, burning white-hot, scratching at the base of his neck. He doesn’t want to think these things – but he can’t help it. The taste of blood still lingers on his tongue no matter how much he tries to forget it. “Yeah,” He mutters, miserable. Allura strokes his cheek, trying to comfort him. Her tail entwines with Keith’s, and the gesture makes him choke back a sob.

“This is a step forward,” She says, voice like silk.

Two steps back. Keith releases another shaky sigh. “It’s not going to get better,” He whispers, quiet and broken. Something is terribly shattered in Keith. He wishes he could figure it out – wishes he could find it and mend the cracks in his soul with shaking hands and gentle words. “I’m going to be like this forever. It’s been a month, Allura, and I still can’t look at you without wanting to tear out your heart.”

Allura bites her lower lip, staring at the floor. Her hand is still on his cheek though, warm and comforting. “I think you should let me go,” Keith utters – barely above a whisper, so quiet, like the flutter of his lashes. “I’m a lost cause.”

Allura snaps her gaze back to him, eyes burning bright. “No,” She says, voice firm. “Absolutely not. I promised you. I _will_ help you,” She stands, both hands on either side of his face now. “Whatever it takes.”

Keith’s throat feels tight, like wrought iron, twisting and bending painfully. “I don’t break my promises.”

He shuts his eyes, leaning into her caring touch. “No. I can’t imagine you would.”

She sits back down, staring at the round brown table in front of them with a pensive silence. “I think I know someone who can help you,” Keith raises a questioning brow. The dull ache in his horns have subsided for the time being, and with a glance downwards towards the tray, some of the colors have returned to his face. Not much, really, but it’s there. He looks up at Allura’s horns, swirling with lavender dust, and feels guilt in his belly. “It won’t be an easy journey. She lives deep in the forests of Germany.”

“That’s… far.”

Allura nods. “She’s a Pixie. She favors medicine and science above all else – I think she’d be _ecstatic_ to experiment on you.”

Keith bristles. “Experiment?” Allura grins like a Cheshire. “I don’t think I like that.”

Allura waves a hand. “I think you can sacrifice some of your comforts if she can come up with a solution to your powers. You’re not going to be able to keep the frenzy at bay forever,” Keith narrows his eyes. _I can damn well try._ “But, maybe she can… cast something. Make something. I’m not sure – but having a spell or item with you to dampen your powers would be most beneficial. The entire reason you can’t feed properly is that you’re simply… too strong.”

Keith nods. “When do we leave, then? Do I pack?” Allura nods her pretty head.

“We can leave in the morning if you’d like.” Keith jumps at the opportunity, “It’ll be a long journey. You won’t be able to feed as usual, and… we’ll run into humans. It’s been easy for you thus far because we’re a fair distance from the city… but we’ll be on the main roads.”

Keith nibbles on his lip. “I think I can do it. If you’re there with me. I can do anything with you here.”

Allura makes a soft sound in the back of her throat, cupping Keith’s cheek once more. “Alright. It’s settled then.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What does that mean?” The wolf rears its large head, taking a turn into the darkest part of the forests – Keith is reluctant to follow. “Aren’t you supposed to have three heads?”
> 
> Cerberus smirks – if a wolf can smirk, that is – and shakes his head. 'In my old form, I have three heads. My dead body covers the gates of hell.'

_July 22nd, 1346, Bulgaria_

Keith likes the sky. In the mornings, it’s a painting full of pastel tones – apricot and coral, staining the white fluffy clouds. There’s no limit – his toes spread out in the dewy grass, chilled from the night, and breathes deep, breath fogging out into the cold air. Here, he feels… infinite. He feels small, too, as the vaulted azure sea above him reminds him just how tiny he really is. He loves the sharp smell of rain in the air, loves the beads of water that cling to the greenery, creating a sparkling blanket of white.

Allura’s behind him, loading the carriage with her luggage – she carries more than Keith, naturally, but he thinks it’s excessive. Who needs that many shoes? He’d help, but at the moment, he can hardly stand. It took some effort to get out of bed – he was determined to stare up at the dawn and brood over his internal war. At least, that’s what Allura claimed it to be. Keith doesn’t think he’s brooding. He thinks he’s musing, in fact, appreciating everything he can _while_ he can. He’s dressed in a loose white shirt with black pants, his shoes somewhere in the carriage with Allura.

Hopefully, this Pixie friend that Allura has is the magic answer to all of his problems. If not, he might actually die. He doesn’t know what will happen if he doesn’t feed properly – would he starve to death? Every time he brings it up to Allura, she avoids the question with a firm “You won’t,” and the conversation is done. He’s beginning to think she’s had a bad run-in with starvation in the past.

Allura finishes loading the last suitcase in the carriage, turning to Keith with a brilliant smile, as luminous as the break of day. “We’re all set!” She says, lifting her pale pink dress to step in the damp grass. Her nose scrunches up a bit though when her shoes get wet. Keith smiles softly, hands in his pockets. He turns away from her once she stands by his side, her tan face up-tilted towards the sky. There’s a distant twitter of birds, parting the peaceful air, and Keith feels whole. With Allura at his side, and the vastness of nature before him, he can almost forget that he murdered – and probably continues to murder – millions of people. Plagues are fickle. “What are you thinking about?” She asks.

Keith shakes his head. “I’m brooding,” His voice is sarcastic. Allura shakes her head, taking his hand. Her touch has grown familiar. She tilts her head inquisitively towards him, cobalt eyes flickering with a question. “I…” Keith looks back up at the sky. Back at the infinity of the cosmos. “We’re just so small.”

Allura smiles softly. “That we are,” Her hand tightens in Keith’s, and he rubs his thumb over her wrist. “Yet it doesn’t matter how small or big we are. Anyone can make a difference,” He knows she’s speaking of the fire inside of him. Somehow, in this moment, he can believe her, underneath the dawn’s light. It washes over his face, strokes his tired skin and tells him it’ll be alright.

He can believe her now. Even when he knows that come nightfall, when the sun isn’t there to comfort him, he’ll be wishing he was dead. 

“Yeah,” He agrees, squeezing her hand one last time for good measure. “Let’s go.” Allura tugs on his hand before she lets go, hiking up her dress once more, making sure to walk slowly for Keith to follow. He despises being so weak. Soon, he won’t even be able to dress. The humiliation of it settles in the back of his throat like a hot knife, slicing its way down to his heart. Allura holds the door open to the carriage, and he clambers in, forcing himself to ignore the grinding of his joints. Once he’s able to sit down, he sinks into the plush seating with a sigh, eyes drooping heavily.

Allura talks to the carriage driver and gives their destination before climbing in after Keith, sitting next to him and gracing him with her warmth. With a whip of the reins, the horses begin to trot, pulling them along and into the forest down a sandy path. Keith finds himself curling into Allura, resting his head on her ample chest while she runs his fingers through his hair. She’s exceptionally careful while she does so, avoiding the pale gray horns. He feels like a child. Weak, and vulnerable, embraced in the arms of his mother.

“Do you think now is a good time to continue our lessons?” She asks, voice ringing over the distant trot of hooves. Keith grumbles in reply. She smiles, looking out the carriage window. “Mentors and newborns,” She begins. “Usually, the mentor is the one who creates a newborn. By doing so, they bind themselves to this person for eternity, so that they may guide them and teach them how to fend for themselves.” Keith nods. “You didn’t have one.”

“No. I don’t remember if I ever did.”

Allura glances down at his scrawny form, continuing to grow thinner and thinner as the days pass. “I hope that you know – even though I didn’t create you, I still consider you my own. I’ve never created a newborn,” She hesitates, and the carriage jostles, causing Keith’s bones to ache. “I didn’t want to bring a monster into the world. A monster like me.”

Keith clutches her tight. “You’re the farthest thing from a monster.”

She smiles, full of fondness and light, stroking his hair. “No. I suppose I’m not,” She rests her head back against the wooden wall, breathing deep, relaxing. “But whoever turned you will be brought to justice. It’s against the laws of nature to abandon a newborn. Look at the catastrophe their irresponsibility brought,” Allura pulls back the purple curtain further, letting Keith see. There are piles of bodies lining the roads, swarming with bugs, shoved into trenches. “I hope you know that this isn’t your fault.”

Keith buries his face into the crook of her neck, not wanting to see his mistake. Not wanting to gaze upon the damage that the inferno within him reaved. “I know,” He says, broken. “It still doesn’t wipe away the guilt.”

She sighs in empathy. “Pidge will help you,” she says. “I know she will. She may seem standoff-ish and cold, but she has a heart that rivals mine.”

Keith shuts his eyes. “I’m tired.”

“Sleep, Keith.”

 

* * *

The next time he awakens, Allura is gone, and he feels weaker than ever. His head is spinning, and the silver light of the moon peeks through the windows on either side of the carriage. He feels hot, incredibly so – there’s a fire under his skin, swelting and scorching. The very air he breathes is thick, filling his lungs with a heavy oppression that makes it impossible to inhale. He reaches for the carriage door, feeling steel and iron under his bones, needles, and knives in his ribs. He can feel his veins, grinding together like sandpaper as he blindly swats for the door handle. His claw catches in the latch of the door, snapping in half like a brittle piece of wood.

 

He howls in pain, clutching his hand close to his chest as pain surges up his entire left side, causing him to shake. His ears ring as he blinks – the world is spinning, turning over like the perilous tides of the sea, creating a sickly sense of vertigo as he squirms in the carriage. There’s the distant sound of footsteps, the door opens, and then a gasp – Allura. Keith blinks, trying to will the blackness away from his eyes while Allura reaches for him. “Keith, darling,” She breathes, her hands on his skin. He feels the ripples of calm on his flesh, tranquil and easy – yet his heart still pounds in his chest, shaking all the way up to his horns.

He feels so hot. Nothing is working right. His horns are throbbing, and his tail is curled around one of his thighs in an attempt to calm himself. “You’re starving,” She mutters, brows scrunched in worry. Red is flickering, hot and tempting, a whisper to give in. Let go. Feed. Take. Keith whimpers, scrunching his eyes shut, dragging his claws down one of his arms. He focuses on the pain instead of the lull within, distant, like the pounding of war drums. Allura leans over, sealing their lips together, holding her breath.

Nothing happens.

She shakes him as he writhes, trying to get him to feed, but he _doesn’t_. He yanks his head away from her, refusing to take more than he already has with a defiant twist of his mouth. “Keith!” She grasps his shoulders, “Stop this now. You need to feed or you’ll die,” She hisses. “Listen to me.” Keith shakes his head, curling in on himself underneath her pitying gaze. She realizes then that there’s only one thing to do. No magic or feeble meal can help him now. She takes a step back, watching how he gasps in pain, both hands on his stomach. “Stay here, love. I’ll help you. I’ll make it better.” Her voice shakes, breaking off into a sob as she shuts the door.

He needs a human.

She knows that they’ll die. There’s nothing she can do now – the longer Keith waits, the more he’ll suffer, and his state has regressed far faster than any succubus she’s ever known. It takes months to starve out, not a matter of days. Keith’s growing stronger. His magic is like a hurricane, an unrelenting current that storms under his skin. She shuts the carriage door behind her, hikes up her dress -- and runs.

Keith isn’t sure how long he stays there. With every passing second, his stomach burns hotter, threatening to set his dry body ablaze. He stares at the roof of the carriage, eyes cloudy and dull. He’s so tired. He’s so hungry. The sanguine that’s behind his eyes is like a warm hug, so different from the cold surrounding his limbs. He imagines a human girl – brown hair, brown eyes, with a soft face. He imagines holding her, kissing her face, before sinking his hungry teeth into her neck, tearing her apart and swallowing her heart.

He’s starving.

His fingers twitch, his brows scrunch – he thinks of Allura. He thinks about the hope in her eyes, the loving words in her mouth and those warm hands of hers. He knows that he can’t betray her.

But he wants to.

His cracked lips part in a silent plea. Anything. Just anything to curb his hunger, rolling in his belly like barbed wire, like a tightness that squeezes every drop of sanity from him. He shuts his eyes, drifting in a sea of black and red, with only his head above the water. He’s slowly being swallowed whole, he realizes. The tar of his ruination is thick, sticking to his tired limbs and wrapping around his neck. The more he struggles, the farther he sinks, and the iron will that he once had is cracking -- fragmenting, lost to the skies like broken glass. He can feel it now on his chin, the enticing whisper of solace. Of quiet.

_Just for a little while._

He inhales through his nose, lashes fluttering at the scent of meat. Keith groans, licks his lips, violet eyes flickering open. He sits up, blinking as if he’s in a dream – the door opens, revealing a girl. Somehow, she looks familiar, but Keith can’t quite place her. She’s pretty, with silver hair that mirrors the light of the moon – yet her teal eyes speak to him. “Keith,” she whispers. Her face is full of sadness. “You gave in.”

Keith’s gaze darts to the man around her shoulder, drunk and blissed out from the gold of her touch. Keith crawls out of the carriage, disregarding the girl entirely. She was one of his own. She wouldn't statiate the burn in his gut. He focuses on the human man who shudders when Keith’s palms are on his chest. “You want me?” He whispers. The man nods, brown eyes lidded. His broken claw traces up against a chiseled jawline, mouth watering at the sight of a fluttering pulse. His stomach turns. He lunges upwards, pulling on brown hair and losing himself in the hunt – just as he has so many times before.

He remembers now. He remembers starting a terrible sickness and enjoying himself while he did so. He remembers taking what he wants, men and women alike, until he felt nothing but the bliss of orgasm and the fullness of his belly. He tears into a warm neck, moaning loudly at the taste of blood and _want_. This man wants Keith so badly, it makes his knees shake. He buries his teeth deep, and deeper, until he hits the sharpness of a bone – collarbones, he thinks.

Blood stains his skin. He revels in the heat of it, dissipating into a cool burn that eases the torridity of his skin. He moans again, sinking to his knees when the body goes limp, clutching at broad arms and muscle until he reaches the cavity of a chest. His body sings, his head clears, and he tears into the tough familiarity of a human heart.

He savors every bite, licking each of his fingers when he’s done and releases a sigh of satisfaction – the whispering stops. He is complete. There is nothing, finally, except the steady pound of his heart, as he tips his head back towards the sky.

Dawn is breaking.

His shoulders shake, and the crushing weight of reality smothers the feeling of wholeness. The sun hovers over the trees, painting his red face in a dazzling hue of amber, stroking his cheeks. It’s alright, the sun says. But it isn’t. He buries his face in his bloody hands, smearing the remains of his meal across his black brows – and sobs. The fire is quenched. “My dear,” Allura says, hands on his shoulders. “You’re okay. It’s okay now.”

Keith slumps against her, heart feeling heavy – he hates himself for enjoying the feeling of finally being full. He hates himself for enjoying tearing an innocent person apart. He hates himself. He cries out for his lost mortality. He wails for his lost self, and prays for death to take him.

 

* * *

Three weeks pass.

 

Keith hasn’t said a word. He sits away from Allura, leaning on the shaking carriage and trying to will the fullness away. At least when he was starving he knew he wasn’t hurting anybody. His hunger has receded, but his guilt has come back full force, dirty hands on his insides. He doesn’t feel like doing anything, really – he tunes Allura’s voice out, opting to stare out the window and watch the days bleed together. He does catch that they’re somewhere in Hungary.

“I’m glad to be away from Romania,” Allura says – she knows Keith’s not listening. She knows he’s angry with her. Angry with himself. “That’s where Lotor likes to reside. Something about the women,” She smiles. Keith doesn’t look at her. They’re pulling through a small town – the stench of humans is almost overwhelming. It would’ve been worse if he didn’t have a full stomach. No – Keith can appreciate and mull over their existence for _now_.

There’s a priest shouting, preaching to the people in front of a pile of gray bodies. Keith swallows his tears – ripping his gaze away and onto his lap. Europe has been thrown into chaos, and it was his fault. He knows it. He feels it in his bones – an aching, constant reminder. “We’ll be pulling into Austria soon,” Allura says. She wants to reach out and comfort him – as any mentor would their newborn. Keith would rather die than be touched and she knows it. “Everything will be better once we meet Pidge, Keith. I promise.”

Keith sighs. “Just stop talking.”

Allura looks at the floor, sadness pulling at her face.

 

* * *

Come week eight, Keith is beginning to feel hungry again. Luckily, they’re at the border of Germany, covered by the fall of night. Allura has recently fed, so her magic is aiding to stifle the fire in his belly. It still doesn’t curb the blueness he feels in his heart. “We’re almost there,” She chirps. Despite being shut down numerous times, she’s still full of light – though Keith can see the dark swirl in her pupils. “Are you excited to meet her?”

 

Keith shrugs in response. It’s more than telling her to shut up – so she takes it as a small victory. Keith really should quell her tongue, but he can’t bring himself to. Maybe it’s because his body knows that she’s food. He hugs his arms over himself at the thought. “She’ll love you. I was writing to her when we were back in Bulgaria,” Allura places a hand on Keith’s knee – this time, he doesn’t shrink away, and her smile splits her face. “She’s very intrigued by the situation. Though you’ll have to forgive her brash way of speaking – she doesn’t have a filter. I think it’s from living away from humans so long – she doesn’t see the point to politeness.”

Keith hums. Allura rubs comforting circles on his knee, and he feels calm. When he looks down, he sees that she’s not using her magic – just the kindness of her touch. His eyes burn. “Why are you doing this?” He asks. Allura tilts her head in question. “You saw me –” His fingers dig into his arms, his claw had grown back quickly after his meal. “You saw me eat someone alive. Why don’t you hate me? You need to hate me – you need to despise me. You need to throw me away –”

Allura scowls. “Stop it.”

Keith shuts his mouth, hanging his head low in shame. “You were going to die. You did what you had to do. Sometimes, it’s like that – sometimes, humans are nothing more than food. As long as you can pull yourself out of it, Keith. And you did.” Allura strokes his cheek in the way she does, and Keith nearly sobs – because he’s missed this. The silence between them has been stifling. It shatters his eardrums. He reaches his pale hands up, contrasting with her brazen skin, and clutches at her wrist, black tail curling around her calf as he shuts his eyes. “It’s not your fault. I _promised_ you – remember? I’ll do whatever it takes.”

Keith whimpers. He’s just so tired. He doesn’t even want to try anymore – but with Allura at his side, how can he not? “For you.”

“For me,” She echoes. “One day, you’ll have to find your own will to live. I won’t be here forever.” Keith clutches her wrist tighter, illuminated by the silver glow of the crescent. “I know. That day is far, yet.”

The carriage pulls to a stop, and Allura peeks her head out the purple window. Keith unfurls his tail from her, watching as a smile breaks over her face. “Come, Keith.” She opens the door, hiking up her white dress as she steps onto the dirt road, grinning from ear to ear. Keith follows, sticking close to her side. “Pidge,” She says, crouching low. There’s a small girl there, no bigger than a six-year-old. “ _How are you, love?_ ” She’s speaking in German, Keith thinks.

Pidge is androgynous, with fluffy chestnut hair that frames her soft looking face, her golden eyes glowing like candles in the darkness. She’s wearing a green tunic of sorts, with bare feet – but her wings. Her wings are opalescent, fanning and fluttering into the chill air, trickling with a faint dust that dissipates before it hits the earth. They have intricate swirls as if they were plucked from the clouds like snow-flakes, and Keith is transfixed by their beauty. Pidge grins wide, giving Allura a warm hug. “ _You know,_ ” her voice is loud. “ _Gettin’ by. Is this the one?_ ” Pidge gestures towards Keith, who blinks out of his daze.

Allura nods, resting her chin in her palm and her elbow on her knee. “Hey, buddy,” Pidge’s accent is thick. “Kneel down for me.” Keith blinks, frowning. Allura offers a look of sympathy. So, Keith gets to his knees, feeling a bit hesitant to do so. Pidge is on him immediately, cupping his cheeks between her tiny hands, turning his head every which way. Her golden eyes are piercing, slicing through the cracks of Keith’s insecurities, and despite himself – he feels a flush of embarrassment on his face underneath her scrutinizing gaze.

He yelps out in pain when Pidge grabs his horns, tugging down to examine the top of his head. She whistles. “Glowing horns?” She looks to Allura, who nods. Keith wriggles. “Stop being a baby,” Pidge releases him though, stalking behind him to grab at his tail. He feels a spike of anger up his spine when she grabs at it, tugging none too gently and examining it. Keith whips his head around, glaring daggers into her face – she only grins. “You’re right, Lura. He’s damn powerful. I can feel his magic.”

Keith narrows his eyes into icy slits. “I’ll be feeling your _heart_ in my teeth if you don’t stop touching me!”

Pidge barks a laugh, holding up her hands in surrender. “Settle down.” She walks over to the carriage, taps it twice – and Keith blinks. Allura’s luggage comes floating out, covered in a golden film that drips like water, and they fly through the air as if they weigh nothing. Allura claps with glee.

“Oh, I love it when she does that!”

Pidge waves a hand. “Come with me, Incubus. I’ll be able to get a more thorough examination in my lab.”

Pidge, even though she has wings, walks on the ground. Keith finds it curious – maybe she was just being thoughtful since he and Allura can’t fly. There’s a treeline of green, bathed in silver light, and Pidge ducks into them as if she’s known them her whole life. She probably has. Allura holds Keith’s hand, leading him. Always with him. She leans in close, her scent wafting over him like gentle summer rain. “She doesn’t really have a lab, you know,” She whispers. “She just likes to think she has.” Of course. Who could have a lab in the middle of a forest?

They’re walking for a long while, until Pidge directs Allura’s luggage into the hollow trunk of a big tree, grinning triumphantly. “This’ll be your new home for now,” She says, glancing back at Keith. “Best get used to the bugs.” Keith bats away a mosquito as soon as she says it, scowling. The leaves crunch under his leather shoes as he follows Pidge into the tree – it’s meant for a person much smaller than him, so he has to hunch over, but it’s nice.

They walk into a living area/kitchen of sorts, with hand-made wooden furniture, carved meticulously and likely polished. There’s an iron stove, a rack of pots and pans above, and a couch made from bird feathers and scraps of fabric. Allura’s luggage gets directed up a set of stairs, leading farther into the tree, and in the distance he can hear a door open and shut, followed by the heavy thud of her luggage on the floor. It’s a warm, homey place, made cozy by the stove, with hand-made knick-knacks and treasures Pidge found. It smells like lavender and jasmine – with an assortment of herbs that Keith doesn’t even want to know about.

It must’ve taken a long time to make this place. Keith admires that. “Your rooms are up the stairs – I usually end up sleeping on the couch anyway, so you can take my room, Allura.”

She hums in agreement. “Love what you’ve done with the place! It’s grown so much since the last time I was here.”

Pidge shrugs, “The last time you were here was 200 years ago, so.”

Allura winces. “That’s alright. Keith, why don’t you take a seat?” Pidge gestures vaguely to the couch, “And if you don’t mind, I’m going to get a little physical again.”

Keith narrows his eyes, but when Allura touches his shoulder, he heaves a great sigh and relents, sitting where he’s ordered to. Pidge takes something from the stove, a steaming green concoction that makes Keith’s nose scrunch. “What’s that?” Pidge’s eyes glint as she pours it into a glass, setting it on the table for it to cool.

“My juju juice,” Pidge says, with an evil tone in her voice. Allura rolls her eyes. Keith bristles – somehow, Pidge is even worse in person. “You drink this, you’ll have crazy visions that are vital to my research!”

“Pidge, dear, stop speaking as if you’re certified.”

Pidge shoots Allura a glare, crossing her tiny arms over her chest. “Anyway,” She’s flying then, floating off the ground and searching the walls – Keith notices that there are tiny cubby holes everywhere he looks, full of herbs and small glinting items. Pixies apparently like shiny objects. Pidge hums low under her breath, reaching high, then makes a sound of recognition and grabs whatever she was looking for. It’s a large red crystal, impossibly big in her arms, and it weighs her down immensely as she makes a careful descent to the floor.

She drops the crystal on the table with a heavy thud, rubbing her hands together. “Alright. Touch this for me?”

Keith frowns, reaching out and placing his palm on the scarlet rock. He feels nothing. Pidge tilts her head, walking around him to examine him at every angle – before grabbing his free hand. The crystal hums to life, warming underneath his fingertips, and a shock travels all the way up his arm, causing him to cry out and jolt back. “Perfect! So,” She raises the glass of green juice to Keith. He shakes out his hand, frowning minutely. “Drink this and we’ll get to the root of your problems.”

Could it be that easy? Keith eyes her warily, her small face glinting orange and white. “Go ahead. It just tastes really bad – it’ll knock you right out though. When you wake up, you’re gonna tell me what you saw and I’ll work my magic!”

Keith sighs, tail curling around himself. “This won’t kill me?” He looks up at Allura. She gives him a long, long stare – before shrugging. “Great,” he mutters. He takes the warm glass, however, bringing it to his nose and taking a sniff. He immediately cringes – because the stuff smells rancid. Pidge just raises a brow, sitting down on the table. “Really?”

“Yes, really. Drink it, you runt.” She spits.

Keith scowls. In defiance, he plugs his nose, and tips his head back, swallowing a viscous mixture of green and wanting to retch the moment it sticks in his belly. It swirls, making his head feel heavy, and when he’s done, he sets the glass on the table and crosses his arms. Pidge grins.

Keith blinks, because there’s suddenly _two_ Pidge’s, and four Allura’s. He feels like he’s swaying despite sitting down, and the world is rolling over itself as he places a hesitant hand on the feathered couch, trying to ground himself. He can feel tendrils of black wrap around his consciousness, and before he can fall to the floor, the last thing he sees is Allura reaching for him.

 

* * *

He’s wading in a river of pure blue liquid when he comes to. There’s nothing but the sound of shifting water, trickling and shining like fragments of stained glass as the sun paints the surface. In the distance, there’s only the curve of the earth, and he feels the wet sand between his toes as he tips his head back to the azure sky. Dawn is breaking. He feels calm here. He doesn’t realize that there’s an absence of his horns and tail – he only realizes that he feels… tranquility. There’s no hunger, no sadness. Only the vast expansiveness of eternity.

 

His fingers play with the air, and he breathes in, taking in the sweet scent of the sea, as the water ripples around his naked waist. He wants to stay here forever. His heart feels as light as the clouds, as sweet as candy, and he doesn’t want to leave.

To the south, a wolf howls. The sound makes him feel lonely – because yes. He’s alone. He’s happy, but there’s no one here to share his happiness. He looks to the sound and spots a sandy beach, lined with dark trees that sway with an ominous wind. There’s a blue wolf sitting in the sand, with bright cerulean tufts of fur down the line of its spine, fanning out into a tail that curls towards Keith. Its eyes are golden, with oval irises of pure black, nearly swallowed by the onyx of its sclera’s. It gazes at Keith, neon blue strips of fur lining the sides of its darker body and curling around its paws.

Keith looks at it, and it turns its head, pulling onto its paws and padding to the edge of the trees. He scrambles to catch up, wading through the crystalline water and letting the sand stick to his knees as he reaches land. The wolf spares a glance backward, before slinking into the forest – Keith has to follow. He doesn’t know why, but he has to. There’s a fire in his belly, and when he slinks into the forest, a black cloak is draped across his shoulders, stolen from the shifting night sky. The wolf in front of him walks slow.

_Follow, sleeping one._

Keith clutches the cloak to his body, stumbling past sharp brushes and painful roots. His legs start to bleed at some point, but he can only see the blue back of the wolf. “Who are you?” He calls out. His voice, even though he shouted, is quiet, echoing between his ears and making his nose feel tingly.

The wolf huffs. _They call me Cerberus. I am to guide you through your dreams so you may see the crux of your afflictions._

Keith frowns, shrugging further into his black cloak. “What does that mean?” The wolf rears its large head, taking a turn into the darkest part of the forests – Keith is reluctant to follow. “Aren’t you supposed to have three heads?”

Cerberus smirks – if a wolf can smirk, that is – and shakes his head. _In my old form, I have three heads. My dead body covers the gates of hell._

Keith swallows. “Are you taking me there?”

Cerberus looks up. _Yes._

He halts in front of a gaping chasm in the earth, with stairs of dirt lining the jagged walls, steep and perilous. Keith has one hand on his cloak, the other, curled into Cerberus’s fur. The wolf doesn’t seem to mind – it’s oddly tame, despite being a guard from hell. Keith holds his breath, anxiety bubbling in his throat as he peers down into the trench. There’s nothing but blackness and howling wind, biting at his pink cheeks. He knows this is a dream, but everything feels so real – he can smell the damp earth under his feet. He can feel the chill wind, and vertigo from gazing down the deadly gorge swallowed by blackness.

_Do not fear._

“Is this real?” Keith asks, fingers clutched tightly in bunches of blue fur. _You are in a different realm. Your soul remains human, though your existing body has changed – so in a way, yes. This is real. Should you be compromised here, you’d never wake up._

Keith gulps. “No pressure,” He whispers. His eyes are locked on the endless drop, and when Cerberus kicks forward, Keith follows with stiff legs, walking step by step, down and down into the chasm. “Who killed you?”

Cerberus huffs, prideful and wounded. _The Champion. You’d best stay away from them._ Of course. If this _Champion_ could slay a three-headed dog demon that guards the gates to Hell, Keith wants to stay far, far away from them. His fingers curl tighter into Cerberus’s fur, led further down. The farther he goes, the hotter he feels – as if his chest is weighed down by a hot scale. He finds it harder to breathe, too – but the wolf doesn’t seem to be affected.

In the distance, he can see two great braziers of blue and purple fire, towering high into the air and spilling lilac light onto the dark floors. There are skeletons as far as the eye can see, piled much like the rising flames, and Keith feels an odd sense of detatchment looking at them. When they reach the bottom of the stairs, Cerberus shrugs Keith’s hand away, stalking towards a set of great doors, standing much taller than any giant Keith could imagine. 

They’re heavy and gold, with depictions of the Devil’s fall to the underworld at the very top – then as his eyes trail down, he realizes there are stories of the Greek gods, and at the very bottom, there’s a hulking, half-decomposed corpse of a three-headed dog, lying on its side. Cerberus sits in front of it as Keith approaches, musing over its sheer size. One of its paws is roughly the size of a fairly average house. “This is your true form?”

_Yes._

Keith looks back to the gates, and he realizes that they were forced open, with two barely seen claw marks on either side. “Why have you brought me here?” Keith asks, facing the blue wolf who stares longingly at his lost body, ears drooped slightly. “What must I do?”

_You must bring me back._

Keith goes still, only the warm breeze from beyond the gates breaking his shrewd silence. “What?” Keith is powerful, he knows that much, but no one can bring back the dead. Cerberus looks up at Keith with his golden eyes, looming and pulsing with magic. “I’m an Incubus. I am not a miracle worker.”

The wolf’s shoulders shake as if he were laughing. Keith narrows his eyes. _You truly believe that’s all you are? You ravaged half of the world’s population, and yet you still think you are a mere Incubus? No, child. To call yourself an Incubus is insulting. You are something much older, much stronger._

Keith suddenly feels cold, pulling his cloak over his chilled form. “What do you mean, wolf?” Cerberus blinks owlishly. _It means what I said. Surely your brain is not as lost as your memories._ Keith clutches at his cloak until his knuckles are white. Something much older. Much stronger. Cerberus looks to his body, licking his lips. _Place your hand on my body and believe. I will come back, I assure you. You have the ability to bring down an entire army in the blink of an eye – to sink an armada with a flick of a finger. Surely, you can raise something from the dead._

Keith scowls. “And what if I can’t? Will I wake up?” Cerberus nods. His words echo in Keith’s head, a mixed feeling of apprehension and dread settling in his belly. “Fine,” He breathes, lifting a shaking hand. He approaches the felled beast, violet eyes flicking over rotting flesh and bones. Could he really? Could he really bring back something so far gone? He glances over at the blue wolf, fur rippling in trepidation. Keith gazes up at the three-headed dog, before gently placing his trembling palm on one of its jaws. The fur there is brown and cold and matted – and for a moment, nothing happens.

Keith tilts his head back to the wolf, a frown playing at his brows. “I told you, I’m not a –”

The wolf is gone.

There’s a rumbling growl behind him, and a puff of hot air that brushes his hair back. Every part of his body tenses up, a bitter chill wracking his spine. He doesn’t want to turn back around. His brain screams with danger, and his neck seems to creak with every turn to the side – Cerberus is alive. He’s even more intimidating when he’s standing, his great lungs heaving loudly, causing the inky spill of Keith’s hair to coil backward. Three heads are trained on the Incubus, watching every small movement he makes – there are scarcely any at all, for Keith is locked in terror, jaw agape.

An army in the blink of an eye. An armada with a flick of his finger.

Life and death at his beck and call.

His knees begin to wobble as Cerberus growls at Keith, the center head eye-level with piercing violets, wide with alarm. _See?_ He rumbles, three heads moving like a singular snake, as fluid as water. Cerberus’s mighty paws strike the brown earth as he circles Keith, impossibly small now compared to his mountain-like stature. _The answers you seek lie within. I can promise you safe passage._ Keith gulps, frowning and holding his arms close to himself while the beast surrounds him. _Find the truth to your past, slumbering one. Only then will you solve the riddle._

“The riddle?” Keith asks, voice as shaky as his hands. He just resurrected a monster the size of a small castle. His mind is reeling. “What do you mean, hound? Why are you protecting me?”

Cerberus settles on his haunches, and the earth shakes with his weight. _You will find the answers inside. Go._

Keith turns back to the gates, swung open, with gusts of hot wind pelting on his fair face. He sees nothing but a misty black realm, swirling with heat and the screams of the damned. Cerberus leans forward, nudging at Keith’s back with his wet nose. It sends Keith stumbling, flying forward into the mirror of Hell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EEE!!!! mentions of shiro and lots of vague plot points!!!! my favorite. also, my poor boy keith... i literally just wanna give him a hug. he's going to forgive himself one day, i promise, and things will be gucci! also, cerberus's guide form is supposed to look like the actual wolf from the show! i'm 100% sure this isn't going to be his last of him, too. i'm super excited for writing out this story and i hope you guys are too!!! please leave a comment so we can scream together! also, come bother me on [tumblr](https://philemal.tumblr.com) <3


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Bringer of the plague,” He says, voice dark and heady. “Why have you come here?”
> 
> Keith’s nostrils flare with his heaving breaths, gaze flickering between the sword and the rider. “I seek answers,” He replies, determination burning hot in his belly, causing a spill of fire to part his lips. “I have come under the guidance of Cerberus.”

The underworld was everything Keith expected – and exactly what he didn’t expect. When he dreamt of Hell, he imagined it to be like a hollowed out volcano, with an endless plummet into the earth below. He imagined there to be screams from every corner, souls chained up to the walls, babies crying, people dying – but no.

It was much eerier. It was _quiet_.

Keith thinks he sees phantoms in the corner of his eye; mist-like apparitions of black, hovering on the cavern walls with perplexing red eyes. He can hear whispers, distant conversations – yet when he turns a corner, there’s nobody there. He thinks he’s going to go mad. The sound of claws against rock echo loudly in the caved corridor, but when he whips around, there’s no one. No one except Keith. He knows that, he feels it in his heart, so why does he feel like he’s being watched?

It’s a prickling feeling on the back of his neck, reminding him that he’s not truly alone. There are ghosts here. He can hear the memory of their screams, stuck in the flame-red walls that emanate heat. It smells musty – stifling and hot. He can’t seem to catch his breath at one point, due to the heavy weight on his lungs, choking the life from him. He feels weaker, sweating profusely from the climate, and he knows if someone should decide to attack him, he’d lose.

He’s human, too. Completely mortal. He doesn’t have the strength he has in his Incubus form. A distant yell makes his dark head swerve to the right, tresses of ink sticking to his face. There’s a tunnel where he looks, the air smelling of death and rot. The breeze is cold, however, and he finds himself following it, sinking deeper into the caverns. He doesn’t know where he’s going at this point, or if he’s going in circles – he just knows that he’s going the right way. It’s like a pull around his neck as if he were collared, and the rope is slowly tightening.

The pull leads him into an ante-chamber, where the walls are lined with rusty chains. He pauses, violet eyes latched onto the walls, like the tug of gravity grabbing his pupils. His eyes ache, like an itch he can’t scratch, like there’s something there – he just can’t see it. A breeze wafts by, shaking the chains and filling the hall with the sound of chiming metal. It brushes his face, almost like the kiss of a lost lover, and his head is turned to the direction it blows.

Then, a gust of wind blows back, followed by the distinct sound of whooshing.

The caves are breathing.

They’re alive – every inch is sentient. Keith looks back to the chains, trembling underneath his matted cloak. He begins to see what was lost to him. The transparent white hues of lost spirits, groaning out in pain as they lie shackled to the jagged walls. There are children here. Men and women, no older than the age of twenty, grieving for their lost animation. Keith feels something thick in the back of his throat.

Upon further speculation, he can see the grayness of their skin, the black boils that paint their necks. He can see their fingers, tips lined with decaying flesh and yellowing nails. These were his victims. When he looks up at a woman’s face, he realizes that this is his own personal Hell, forged with the whisper of his memories. Blonde hair, blue eyes – sunkissed skin.

_Tell me, kitten. Do you love me?_

Her heavy head shifts upward, sluggish and transparent. “Yes,” She says. “Of course.” She whispers. Keith feels bile in his stomach, boiling like acid. Is this his punishment from God? Has he been abandoned? The walls begin to creak, shifting like a flickering flame, red and black and gold. The girl wilts away like a dying rose, the petals of her spirit turning into ash on the ground – and Keith bites the inside of his cheek to stifle his tears.

Sounds of stone grinding against rock fill the chamber as the walls split, shaking the dusty red ground he stands on. He steps forward, the screaming of his convictions splitting his skull much like the wall – and finds himself on a cliff, overlooking a gaping chasm of fire and magma. The heat is overwhelming, and he lifts an onyx clad arm to cover his face, brows pulling together against the onslaught of fire.

There’s screaming. Babies crying – and in the pit, he can see a writhing mass of bodies. Gray skin. Black boils.

_Look at the chaos their irresponsibility has brought._

The stench of it turns Keith’s stomach, filling his senses and spurring on the twisted bite of his memories. His breath catches in his throat – terror and guilt and fear melded together in a brutal knife, slicing open his empty belly. Keith’s sweat clings to him like a second skin, a fine sheen that reflects golden light – and his eyes are trained on his mistake. His inferno. The hatred he feels between his ribs burns brighter than the fires of Hell, surrounding him everywhere he looks. “I’m sorry,” He whispers. The mass screams out for him, black limbs and dead eyes scrabbling to reach the ends of his cloak.

“Why must you be sorry?”

Keith’s head turns towards the voice. It’s Allura. Her platinum hair cascades down her back, her tan skin graced with nothing except the blueness of her silk dress. Keith wants to cry looking at her, thinking she’s a message from God himself – but when he looks into her eyes, he knows that this isn’t her. This is a cruel test. The warmth of her irises has all but vanished, leaving nothing but a vacant, hollow stare that makes Keith shiver. “Hades finds it beautiful. He’s a fan of your work.”

She floats by, and Keith does nothing but stare, feeling rage claw in his belly and send tingles up his spine. Allura was _sacred_.

Nothing is sacred in the underworld.

She smiles, and the sight is cold, lonely. Her blank gaze turns towards the bodies that gasp for Keith – gasp for their downfall. “Why do you deny the fire inside of you, Keith?” She looks to him, her once warm smile ringing in the air like a blizzard.

He grits his teeth. She only tilts her silver head, her long, white nails grazing against his jaw-line. It makes his stomach lurch. Her gaze is long, poisonous. “There’s a plague within you. You’re just about ready to _pop_ ,” Her nails flee from his face, and he releases a breath he didn’t know he was holding. “Tell me, warrior, what form have you chosen in this life?”

Keith snarls. “What do you mean?” There’s a limit to how many riddles a man can take. “I’ve grown tired of your games.”

Allura grins, her teeth glinting like knives. “Do you wish to find the answers?” She queries, her hands behind her back. Keith scowls, fists clenched at his sides. He’s scared of Allura. This… _twisted_ version of her. She reeks of malice and cruelty – reflected in the emptiness of her eyes. He knows, somewhere deep down, that she could rip him apart and feed him to the crows with a bat of her silver eyelashes. Keith looks at her, and sees nothing but a cold storm, but he would not be swayed by her intimidating stare. He nods.

She looks down to the pit of bodies, growing by the minute. “Then jump. You must go deep to discover your past, warrior.” Keith’s violet eyes follow her gaze, breath hitching in his throat. “Are you scared?”

_Yes_ , he wants to say. He scowls instead, nostrils flaring with his heavy breath. “What have you done with Allura?” She hums low in her throat, looking at her hands as if she’s seeing them for the first time.

“I am only a messenger – a vision of what you want to see,” Allura floats by him once more, her silk dress trailing in the wind like water. “Do be careful, Keith. There are shadows here that seek one thing above all else.”

Keith turns to look at her. “What is that?”

She tilts her head over her shoulder, a twinkle in her eye. “Power.” Then, as quickly as she had arrived, she’s gone – leaving only the bitter remains of her perfume. Keith breathes deep, staring down into the pit as if the bodies within will consume him – as Keith did to them. Their dull eyes focus on him, bloodied hands scrabbling at the jagged walls. _Then jump_ , Allura had said.

There’s a heavy pulse in the back of his skull, reminding him that this had been his fault. He thinks back to what Cerberus said – should he die here, he’d never wake up. Maybe that’s what he wants. He steps towards the edge of the cliff, vision spinning and narrowing. With Allura’s warm face in mind, he takes a step off, letting gravity swallow him as he falls into the gray vat of flesh below.

 

* * *

He’s not sure what he was expecting. Maybe the crawl of cold flesh on his own, devouring him from head to toe, inflicting the pain he once inflicted. Maybe being eaten alive – with black teeth tearing into his throat, choking on his own blood.

 

He wasn’t expecting to float. The arms that hold him aren’t cold – they’re warm. They envelop his sweating form with the fondness of a mother, and he feels safe. He feels like nothing can hurt him. When he opens his eyes, he’s greeted with the sight of a battlefield, full of corpses shot with spears and set on fire. The sky is a dusky gray, filled with the smoke from the fires of war – and in the distance, he can see a silhouette of a mounted horse, whose rider wears a tall helmet, adorned with trailing silks of crimson.

Keith blinks, standing to his full height, watching as the horseman unsheathes his sword. A sense of unease fills Keith, his nerves prickling with disdain – and the blade glints under the dark sky, afire with the orange hues from the flames. The rider turns, slowly, until his great head is focused on Keith – and his heart stops in his chest. The rider tugs on the horses’ reins, kicking with his armored foot and charging. The black mare’s hooves pound into the soiled earth, brown dirt kicking up and leaving a trail. Keith takes a step back, then another, while the sword points, aiming to make its home in Keith’s chest.

The horse nears. Keith loses his breath, turning to sprint in the midst of his confusion. He can hear the horse’s hooves move closer, and closer, until he can feel the vibrations of its hooves under his bare feet. Keith pants, terror encompassing every nerve in his body. Some part of him knows he’ll never outrun a horse on foot, but he can try, and try he does – leaning forward and sprinting faster than he ever has in his life. The bodies wrought with war blur by, the flames licking at his skin, the thick smog sticking in his lungs.

He can hear the clatter of armor, and with it, the smell of iron fills his nose – stifling and sharp. He shouts his fear, not wanting to turn around for a moment. _Just keep running_. His ribs begin to burn with his exertion, his legs going numb with the sheer amount of force he slams into the earth. In front of him, he can see the shadow of the horse, looming over him like a black form of his death. He can see the rider raise its sword high into the air, body jostling with every gallop – but instead of swinging at Keith, he continues to ride, skidding to a halt in front of Keith to block off his path.

Keith halts, toes sliding into the earth as he freezes, violet eyes wide and afraid as he stares upwards at the war-rider. The horse stamps its hooves, releasing a snuff and a whiny, and Keith feels the cold bite of steel underneath his jaw. “Bringer of the plague,” He says, voice dark and heady. “Why have you come here?”

Keith’s nostrils flare with his heaving breaths, gaze flickering between the sword and the rider. “I seek answers,” He replies, determination burning hot in his belly, causing a spill of fire to part his lips. “I have come under the guidance of Cerberus.”

The rider stares down at Keith, metal helmet glinting orange and silver. “You think you will find the truth here? In the domain of war?”

Keith tilts his chin, stifling the spike of fear upon feeling blood slide down his throat. He’s really getting fed up with all of these riddles. The Gods are _toying_ with him. “I think I have been brought here for a reason.”

The rider gazes at Keith for a long, long moment, before sheathing his sword once more. His metal-clad fingers reach up, removing his helmet, and Keith blanches. The man is only a skeleton, with a mane of frayed silver hair. Hollow eye-sockets stare daggers into Keith, as if it has a soul, as if it were _alive_ and _feeling_. “What do you seek, horseman?”

“The truth to my past,” Keith answers, hand reaching up to cover the prick of the blade. “I remember nothing.”

The horseman’s stare is hollow and vacant, yet it envokes the feeling of being singled out. “You are the horseman of plague. You bring disease and death wherever you go – I remember you telling me that you felt nothing but the hunger in your belly, and no matter how many lives you took, your appetite could not be quenched.”

Keith frowns deeply. “A horseman?” He’s never owned a horse.

“Indeed,” War says, gripping the reins of his mare. “It is why we put you to sleep. Who has awakened you?”

_Slumbering one_. Cerberus’s words ring in Keith’s head, and he grips at his throat in confusion. It explains his hunger, his need to kill. “I don’t remember,” He hisses, glaring up at War with defiant eyes. “That is why I’ve come here. I don’t have any answers.”

War’s gaze is stifling. “You were buried deep in the fires of hell, never to be returned. You were supposed to sleep until the apocalypse.”

Keith frowns deeply. “I’m an Incubus. I’m not a horseman.”

“Is that the form you’ve created?” War sounds amused, “This is only a vessel. It seems you’ve… _stolen_ a soul to inhabit it. It would explain your _conscience_ ,” He says that word with a hint of disgust that Keith picks up easily. “You’re not meant to feed on the lust of humans, Keith. You’re meant to destroy. Ravage. And I, the horseman of war, am meant to reap the benefits of your work.”

Keith glares. “And what if I don’t want to? I would sooner die than inflict another plague,” He spits, violet eyes ablaze with his redemption. “I never meant to harm innocent people! You think I’ll follow along with your despicable plans to end the world?”

War only hums.

Keith thinks of the azure sky, and how small he felt compared to the vastness of mortality. He thinks of Allura’s face – her warm eyes, her soft hands, and words, wrapping Keith up in a bundle of silk. “I will _not!_ ” Keith says, slamming his foot down.

In a flash of steel, War draws his blade, his black mare huffing. “The apocalypse is coming, Plague. You’d be wise to join us, should you wish to live,” Keith looks at the blade, bile rising in his throat. “If you won’t fight with us, then you will die.” War raises his sword, Keith’s eyes blown wide, and brings it down in a fell swoop.

Instead of slicing through flesh, through skin and bone, he meets nothing but the air.

 

* * *

 

_October 20th, 1346, Germany_

 

Warm. He feels warm. Comforted, swaddled in cotton and soft fabrics. He blinks awake, greeted with the sight of a pale pink blanket, comforting to the touch. He hums low in his throat, voice crackling – because he’s thirsty. He’s so thirsty it burns. His brows pinch together, skin feeling pasty and dry while his tongue roves over his dry gums. His arms are weak as he pushes, black lashes fluttering with the remains of his dream.

 

Or was it a dream?

Reality strikes his brain like a heavy hammer, causing his eyes to grow wide and bate his breath. He sits up, realizing that he’s naked, and looks around. He’s in a room made of wood. Pidge’s tree. He feels a weight on his chest, unfamiliar yet comforting – and his fingers reach up to trace the amulet that is clasped around his neck. He lifts the gemstone in his palm, staring at it with sleepy violet eyes.

It’s humming, glowing as if it were alive – and Keith realizes it’s following the tune of his heart. He also realizes that his hunger is gone. Well, he feels famished – but not in the usual way. He doesn’t feel like he needs to devour someone whole to get what he wants – or destroy an entire fleet to fill the gaping hole in his belly. The gemstone he holds is scarlet, lined with a golden chain that hangs securely, and is about the size of a baby’s fist. It’s jagged and _beautiful_.

Keith thinks back to the large red rock Pidge had him lay hands on. This amulet is a piece of that. It thrums with warmth under his touch, and he holds it close to his chest, shutting his eyes. Allura was right. Pidge had _fixed_ him. He feels a sting in his eyes. Yet, contrary to his past tears, which had been bitter and full of loathing – these are happy. These are grateful, and as they stream down his cheeks, he has a smile on his cracked lips.

It still doesn’t explain why they had to cover his sleeping form with seven blankets, though. He decides to wrap one around his naked form, letting the amulet dangle in the divot of his collarbones. He stands, bare feet on the warm wood floors, and opens the door. He’s greeted with the scent of lavender and herbs, and the familiar fondness of Pidge’s tree. He’s so happy. He’s ecstatic – he could jump for joy with a smile plastered onto his face.

What War had said lingers in his memories, but for the time being, he doesn’t want to remember. He wants to bask in his happiness.

He trots down the stairs, spotting Allura and Pidge curled up on the couch together, sleeping the night away. Keith hums, placing a hand on Allura’s shoulder with a grin. She moans a bit, eyes flickering open and shut, before her cool blue gaze lands on Keith. He instantly forgets about Death Allura who had scared the lights out of him.

Allura stares at him for a moment, before gasping and pulling him in for a bone-crushing hug. Pidge snorts awake with the jostle to the couch, blinking rapidly. “Oh, Keith!” Allura says, hands scrabbling on his shoulders. Keith laughs, actually laughs, and holds her close. Was she crying? He gives into his fate, settling down on the couch so she can hug him tight, her hand in his hair. “When did you wake up?” She chokes. She holds him as if he were something precious – and Keith feels his heart swell within his chest, as if it were going to burst free and run away. Their tails entwine, a greeting that would seem intimate in the eyes of another.

“Just now,” Keith says. “How long was I asleep?”

Allura pulls back, her hands on his shoulders, gaze swirling. “Seven weeks.” Keith hesitates, skin as pale as a ghost. “You were gone for so long – I was worried you died,” Pidge grumbles under her breath, stretching out her sleepy bones. “But Pidge assured me that you were alright. How could you not know?”

Keith stares at his lap, covered by the pinkness of his blanket. “It was… a journey. I’m not sure what to say, really.”

Pidge speaks up. “Why not start with your dream?” Despite just waking up, her inquisitive gleam is in her eyes.

Keith shakes his head. “I know exactly what I am, and where I come from.”

“Well, that’s good!”

There’s a creak of a door, and Keith turns to the sound. “You were being very dramatic, you know? Just… _casually_ setting off a disease that wipes out Europe, basically, then coming here and what? Taking a nap?” He says, blue eyes twinkling with mirth. “I consider myself a fan of drama, but you, sir, are on another level.”

Allura heaves a sigh. “Keith, meet… _Lance_.” She waves her hand with a heaviness in her voice.

Keith scowls. He was right about his urge to punch Lance in the face. He approaches, wearing only a pair of brown pants, a smug smirk on his face – and he takes Keith’s hand, brushing a kiss to his knuckles. Keith blanches. “Allura said you’re pretty,” Lance murmurs against Keith’s pale hand, hot breath rolling over his skin. “But I think you’re positively _gorgeous_.”

Blue eyes flick upwards, caught in swirling violets. Keith’s cheekbones flush red. In person, Lance is… handsome. Annoyingly so. His words set off a chain reaction in Keith’s gut, a surge of arousal and anger. He stares at those blue hues, tan skin looking sweet to the tongue, and the pinkness of Lance’s mouth – currently hovering over Keith’s knuckles, a silent question in his eyes.

In retaliation, Keith raises his knuckles from Lance’s grip, and brings his fist down into the bridge of a pointed nose. A flare of pain shoots up Keith’s arm, but he doesn’t let it show, gritting his teeth with a heavy scowl as Lance howls in pain, holding his bleeding face and stumbling backward. His navy blue tail curls around himself in an effort to protect himself, and he _whimpers_. Allura screeches. Pidge laughs.

“ _Don’t_ ,” Keith grits out, “Touch me.”

Allura slaps his shoulder. “ _Keith_!” Lance raises a bloody hand, the other shaking around his undoubtedly broken nose.

“What the hell!” He shouts. Despite himself, Keith smirks, leaning back into the couch while Lance hunches over in pain. “I think you broke it!”

“Shut up,” Pidge laughs, “It’ll fix itself in the hour.”

Allura frowns, yet Keith can see the faint amusement in her eyes. “That wasn’t very nice, Keith. You should apologize.”

Keith scoffs. “No.” Lance’s head whips up, glaring daggers into Keith’s skin – he only grins wider. “I think it’s an improvement.”

Allura heaves another great sigh while Lance splutters. “What do you mean?” He squeaks, “My nose is perfect!” Keith stares at him, incredulous.

“In what world?”

Lance growls. Actually _growls_. Keith laughs along with Pidge. “An Incubus shouldn’t be so unlikable. You won’t get any food like that.”

Keith shrugs. “I’m not here to please you,” He looks away, focusing on Allura. “I have my own problems to worry about.”

Lance tips his head back, blood staining his tan skin. Allura stands, wincing apologetically and grabbing a piece of cloth to press to Lance’s bleeding nose.

“Okay, Keith. Tell me what you saw.” Pidge says, her tiny form settling close to Keith. He takes a deep breath, recalling his… whacky visions. He tells her about Cerberus – he tells her about being in Hell. All the while, her face is impassive, golden eyes staying firmly locked on Keith’s. He feels a bit uneasy describing the hollow Allura who visited him, but the real one doesn’t seem to mind, even opting to throw him a soft gaze that makes his insecurities melt away like butter.

He tells Pidge about jumping into a pit of bodies – reaping what he had sown. When he gets to seeing the horseman of War, Lance jumps up, looking as pale as a ghost. His nose had been wrapped in white linen, courtesy of Allura, but Keith knows it was already half-way healed. And he had said Keith was the dramatic one? “Does this mean what I think it means?” He asks.

Pidge only looks at Keith, and Allura clasps his hand in support. “He said I was the Rider of Plague,” Keith confirms, violet eyes absolute. “You scared, Lance?” Despite the situation, he manages to muster a smug facade. It scares him, because some part of him deep down revels in the fact that _yes_ – he is that powerful. He is the fire. Keith realizes, that the hunger he once felt was the fire in his belly trying to get free, to flee from his body and pursue the chaos of the earth.

“Yeah,” Lance splutters, eyes wide. “Who wouldn’t be scared? You could literally kill me and everyone in this room, age and power be damned.”

Keith nibbles on his lip – Allura squeezes his hand tighter, reminding him that she’d never leave him. “But he won’t, Lance. Pidge has made sure of that.” She looks to the amulet clasped around Keith’s neck, thrumming with power.

“Yup!” Pidge beams, teeth shining with her grin. “Some of my best work. But, remember, Keith,” Her tone is serious, her tiny hand on his shoulder. “If you take this off, you might not come back. This must stay on your neck always – or the apocalypse will come, as War said. This keeps your… Plague _side_ safe and tucked away.”

Keith touches the amulet subconsciously, and it hums in greeting. “I understand,” He says, carefully. He looks to Allura, then to Pidge, who seem to be taking this information exceedingly well. He feels happy – but he can’t help but feel doubtful, too, a traitorous emotion bubbling in the depths of his belly. “You aren’t scared of me?”

Allura’s eyes widen slightly, before she shakes her head, touching Keith’s face with her warm hand. Lance bristles in the background – from either concern or jealousy, Keith doesn’t know. “I would never fear you, Keith. You remember in the garden, yes? When you fed on me –”

“He _FED_ on you?” Lance screeches.

Allura rolls her eyes, “The point is, I trusted you then, and I trust you now, Keith. Nothing will change that.” Keith squeezes her hand, lashes fluttering at the motherly touch upon his cheeks. “My father told me to never trust people,” She reminisces, “But I trust _you_.”

Lance crosses his arms over his chest, staring resolutely at the wall. Keith doesn’t pay him any mind – for his attention is caught in Allura, and her warmth, and her comforting scent of roses and soft linen. “Good.” He says.

Pidge claps, “Well. We should try that amulet out for real,” She stands, bare-foot and prideful. “Let’s go find a human for you to… suck the life out of.”

Keith shoots her a glare, hand still entwined with Allura’s. “This will let me feed properly?”

Allura nods her silver head. “Yes! It acts as an equalizer – you’ll be able to get much more fulfilling meals, as well as preventing death. And plague.”

Keith moans internally at the thought of finally being able to eat something worthwhile. He nods, a bit too eagerly, and pauses. “Do you have clothes, Allura?”

That makes Lance look over, a twinkle in his eye. “Of course I do! What would you like? Something sparkly? Or –”

“Something practical,” Keith interjects, shooting down Allura’s dreams in the blink of an eye. Lance’s knuckles go white. “You know I don’t like dressing up.”

She hums, hanging her head a bit. “Oh, well. I wonder when I’ll find someone who shares my love for fashion,” Lance raises his hand. “Come with me, Keith. We’ll find you something.” He stands, clutching tight to his blanket.

A sound of crinkling paper rings through the air. Keith glances over his shoulder, following the gazes of all four – to a floating envelope dangling just above Pidge’s table in front of the couch. It sways, floating as gently as a feather, until it lands with a soft sound on the surface below.

Everyone is silent.

The letter has a purple wax seal of a crown – Allura stares at it as if it’ll grow legs and run away shrieking. “What is it?” Keith asks. Pidge stands, picking up the letter with a deep scowl on her face.

“The audacity,” She flips it over, reading the address. “To use such dark magic in my home.”

She’s scary when she’s angry. Pidge’s golden eyes flicker over the words scribbled over the back, face twisted in the expression of sheer anger. “It’s for you,” Pidge holds the paper out for Keith. He blinks, shrugging the blanket over his shoulders, using one hand to grab the letter. He stares at the violet seal – it looks like the exact hue of his eyes: dark and perfect.

Keith grimaces, tearing it open with his thumb. Allura aids with pulling the letter out of the envelope, placing it into Keith’s palm.

 

_My dearest Keith,_

_I’m throwing a party in your honor. You should attend – my Champion wishes to see his prize. Come to Paris, my dear, and on all hallows’ eve, you will find me in my estate._

_I don’t like to be kept waiting, horseman._

_Your adherent, Lotor._

Keith’s fist clutches tight, crinkling the paper in his palm. How does Lotor know? Of all people? He’s never even met Lotor, yet he gets the inkling that Lotor knows more than Keith does. And the Champion – the one who slew Cerberus – is at his side. Keith grits his teeth, feeling a prick of fear in the back of his eyes.

This was a challenge. It was like Lotor knew how to push Keith’s buttons – knows how to rile him up. He never backs down from a challenge. “It’s Lotor,” He says, passing the letter to Allura. She reads it with wide eyes.

“This is a trap,” She states. “Lotor is less than the shadow of a snake. I may enjoy his parties, but I do not enjoy his conniving schemes,” Lance nods in agreement. Pidge snatches the letter, appraising it with her own eyes. “It’s obvious to me that he seeks your _power_. God knows he has the Champion whipped.”

Keith remembers the words that Dead Allura said to him in Hell.

“Don’t use the lord’s name in vain,” Lance says. Keith frowns.

“You’re an Incubus.”

Lance shrugs.

“Somehow, I don’t think God cares about you.”

He scowls, arms tight across his chest. “That’s crossing a line! God loves everybody – sex demons included. If he doesn’t love anybody, it’d have to be you, since you were _literally_ created to destroy everything he made.”

Keith doesn’t answer, looking at Allura. “I think I should go.”

“Keith, no.” She answers, shaking her head. She raises her hands, silver brows pinched together. “Absolutely not. Lotor is more powerful than I am – should he want to capture you, we’d never get out alive.”

Keith sucks his teeth.

Then, he glances down to his amulet. “But _I’m_ more powerful than him.”

Allura glares at him. “That’s exactly what he wants! _He_ – there has to be some way he can influence you. Why else would he invite you? You would quite literally be walking into the lion’s den, _my love_.”

Lance scowls. “Why don’t we let him? If Keith wants to die, we should grant his wish.” Keith shoots him a look.

Pidge cuts in, “And ruin my creation? No. I say we go. If it’s a trap, we’ll go in prepared. I think Lotor has some answers that Keith can make him cough up.”

Keith nods. “Three against one, Allura.” The silver-haired succubus frowns, hesitating. Keith can see the turmoil in her eyes, the conflict in her face – and then she heaves a great sigh. It’s more like an annoyed groan than anything, but Keith knows he’s won.

“Fine. But we are not letting you go into Paris, the city of _romance_ , dressed like a baffoon. Come with me,” She grabs his hand, “We’re going to get you dressed up proper.”

Lance watches them with a harsh eye, practically green with envy. “I’d be your willing mannequin, Allura.” Keith cringes inwardly. Yeah – she was right. He has it bad.

Allura waves a hand. “Yes, yes. We know.”

Pidge snickers, before throwing the letter into the fires of her stove. Good riddance. Keith pauses – looking to Lance. “Why is he even here?”

Lance flails his arms around. “You think to ask now? What about earlier, when you punched me!?”

Pidge laughs again. Keith simply stares, as if Lance is a heaping pile of garbage. “I’ll have you know,” Lance begins, smooth like silk, glancing to Allura. “She was worried about you – I can’t even fathom why she even likes you in the first place – but she needed my expertise.” He finishes with a grin.

Keith raises a brow. “And what was the verdict?”

Lance’s expression falls.

Pidge speaks up for him, “He said that you were asleep.”

Allura hides a snicker behind her hand, silver lashes batting. “You were very helpful, Lance. Thank you.” Lance’s haughty expression returns, chin tilting upwards – Keith wants to punch him all over again. “Shall we go, Keith?”

Keith nods, following Allura up the small set of stairs. He doesn’t notice the sad, longing expression written on Lance’s face as they leave, hand in hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> somebody get keith some clothes. he's literally naked like 90% of the time.... idk WHY... eyes emoji. anyway! next chapter will have some sheith, some shance, some kissing -- it gets wild. i'm SO ready. to clear some things up -- keith's current body was never human. he was created, by the... "soul" of plague to house his spirit. keith's human soul has to be in the vessel with plague, otherwise the body wouldn't be able to move or talk or anything -- it would just be a hollow shell. in hell, there are domains where the other 3 horsemen reside: war, death, and famine. they kinda just chill out until hades calls upon them to destroy the earth. plague was woken up early -- i wonder by who?   
> eyes emoji.  
> also!!! poor lance. he literally gets punched in the face and then in the heart -- keith doesn't even have to try, either, and i think that really pisses lance off. he's been trying to get with allura for what? centuries? and this DUDE.... this dude is feeding off her and doing GOD knows what with her. he's just really mad and concerned and also attracted to keith -- he's confused, mostly.   
> anyway! i hope you enjoyed <3 if you wanna talk to me on [tumblr,](https://philemal.tumblr.com) go ahead beetch i'm very lonely and gay!


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